Pain
by Loca Bambina
Summary: What hurts the most... is not seeing that loving you is what I was trying to do. Oneshot, slash, not a songfic...


A/N: Hmm... another angsty oneshot...

I'm proud of this one. It's not a songfic, though I had wanted it to be one. I finally decided it could stand alone as a regular story, so here it is. It was heavily, heavily inspired by the song "What Hurts the Most" by Rascal Flatts, and I included the lyrics to the chorus at the end. Jeez, when I wrote this, I had the song on repeat on my iPod... I must've listened to it at least 30 times nonstop...

Other inspirations were Papa Roach's "Scars" and The Fray's "How to Save a Life."

So yeah... I think that's it. Please review and tell me what you think.

disclaimer: South Park belongs to Matt & Trey; "What Hurts the Most" is by Rascal Flatts.

* * *

Pain

"Mrs. Marsh, can we see Stan?"

"I don't know… see, he locked himself in his room three days ago and he hasn't come out."

"He won't come out?" She nods.

"He hasn't said a word… or opened the door at all. I don't know what to do… I don't know how to help him…" Sharon Marsh's eyes fill with tears. "Sor- sorry, kids… I'm sorry…"

They look at each other and dash upstairs. "Stan! Stan!" Wendy reaches the door first and begins pounding. "Stan, come out!"

No answer.

"Stan?" calls Butters.

No answer.

Kenny loosens his hood. "Stan!"

No answer.

"Oh my God…" whispers Wendy. "What if he… what if he…" Her breath quickens and Kenny pulls her into a hug.

"We can only hope… let's hope for the best." She nods slowly and squeezes Kenny's thin waist.

"Stan… p-please open the door," calls Butters softly, but again no sound comes from within the room.

"Let me." Cartman pushes Butters out of the way and pulls out a paper clip.

"Jimmying the lock?" murmurs Kenny.

"Yeah… _he_ taught me…" Wendy bites her lip and closes her eyes, obviously fighting back tears. Cartman sets to work on the lock and they hear a small click within seconds.

"Stan?" The door swings open to reveal a dark room. "Stan, are you…" He is lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His hair is dirty and tangled, his clothes look like they haven't been changed for a week, and his eyes are red and swollen.

"_Stan._" Wendy rushes across the room and flings herself on him. "You're okay… you're okay…" He doesn't flinch, doesn't say a word. His eyes are focused on some dot on the ceiling and yet Wendy gets the feeling he's not seeing anything. She grabs his wrist. It's rough and bumpy and… wet? Holding her breath, she pushes up his sleeve.

"Wendy?" Butters runs to her side. She looks as if she might faint.

"He…" Her voice is weak and cracked. "He…" Butters's gaze shifts to Wendy's hand, which is wrapped around Stan's wrist. He slowly removes her petrified fingers from their grasp. They are covered in blood.

"Shit." No one comments on the fact that Butters swore. The room is completely silent as four pairs of eyes stare at the thin, bloody strokes that line Stan's arms.

"Go away." Stan's voice is so soft they can barely hear, even though there is no other sound in the room. His gaze is still directed at the ceiling.

"We- we miss you, Stan," whispers Butters. "Please, we want to help- "

"You can't bring him back." They look at each other.

"Well, no, we can't- "

Stan rolls over on his side, his back to his friends. "Go away."

Kenny shakes his head.

"You wanted to, didn't you?" The others look at each other, unsure of what Kenny means by this, but Stan appears to understand it, because he rolls back over and stares Kenny straight in the eyes. "You _wanted to!_" Kenny kicks Stan's bed. "You- selfish- _bastard!_ It wasn't enough for him to die, was it? You had to try and make it worse- don't you think about anyone else? Don't you- you don't get it- you don't come back!"

"_You_ do," mutters Cartman.

"I don't know why I do! But that's not the _point!_ He- he doesn't know if he would- if he would- " Kenny clenches his teeth. "You think you're the only one who cared? You think you're the only one who cries? You think we don't wish a thousand times a day we could see him again? We miss him too! But _we_ don't lock ourselves in our rooms and try to- to- try to- " He starts to cry.

"You don't get it."

"Then help us understand!" cries Wendy, falling to her knees in front of his bed. "Please- Stan- "

"He- he was your best friend," says Butters, as if no one knows this already. Stan closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"That's not it. All those years…" His voice is dry and emotionless, almost as if he's gone through this dialogue in his head a million times. "All that time… and I never told him… because I never knew myself… and now…now he'll never know…" The others exchange solemn looks. "_We were so close… for so long…_"

_I started feeling different around him around seventh grade. My heart would beat faster whenever I got near him and my name was the most beautiful word in the world when he said it. We'd always been best friends – he knew me better than anyone else, maybe better than I knew myself – so I'd assumed it was just happiness, the elated feeling I got from hanging with the guy I considered closer than a brother._

_By the time I realized it was love, it was too late._

_High school was what did it; stereotypes, expectations, reputations to uphold. We both had girlfriends – it was the only choice we had. But try as I might, my feelings wouldn't go away. I would kiss Wendy, but in my mind it was his lips that were pressed against mine. I lost my virginity to her, but I wished it had been his body touching mine, his warm, pale skin penetrating my soul. Still I denied it to myself, forced myself to think of him as a friend and no more._

_Then one night, as we lay on my roof and watched the clouds drift across the starry sky, I made up my mind._

_"Kyle?"_

_"Mhmm?"_

_"Do you ever… you're my best friend, right?"_

_"Yeah, of course." He leaned on one elbow._

_"I… I have something to tell… you…" I looked into his bright green eyes, his incredible, deep eyes. He was my best friend in the entire world; nothing I could say would make him leave me, right?_

_Right?_

Right?!

_"What, Stan? What is it?"_

_"Nothing."_

_I couldn't do it. I couldn't jeopardize our friendship – not like that – not yet. We slid off the roof and I promised myself I'd do it tomorrow – next week – on Valentine's Day – on his birthday…_

_Then, in a flash, he was gone._

_He was gone._

_He was gone…_

_And he never knew._

_And he'll never know._

Stan begins to cry, the tears sliding down his tired, dirty face and onto the worn blanket. The others watch, frightened, as waves of emotion force their way out of the hard shell he's built around himself since _it_ happened.

Kenny wipes his own tears from his cheeks and pulls his hood tighter over his face, tighter, tighter, concealing his ears and his eyes… he's scared, so scared, for what will happen, for what happened, for what might happen, and for what will never happen…

Cartman fights the urge to roll his eyes. Stan is such a pussy. He's still alive, isn't he? But then again, maybe Stan has a point – they say Cartman was lucky to survive the accident, to get away with only a couple hundred stitches – but there are days when he wonders… was he really the lucky one?

Butters stares at Stan – at his eyes, flooded with angst-ridden tears and rimmed with deep, dark circles – at his arms, covered with the scars of attempts to right the wrongs, the attempts that came dangerously close to shattering the lives of so many people – at his fingers, twitching, pulling, reaching for something that wasn't there, reaching for something to hold, reaching for _him._

Wendy grips the closest solid object – Stan's bedpost – and holds on for dear life, afraid that if she lets go, she'll never come back up. She can't look at Stan, can't look at the boy she'll always love no matter how many times she breaks up with him, because she can tell he's teetering on the edge of sanity, on the edge of life, and she can't help him…

None of them can help him...

None of them can change the past…

None of them can bring him back.

The pain burns Stan's soul; not the pain of a lost friend, nor the pain of a lost lover – it's somewhere in between, the pain of a love never realized, of the regret of a lifetime, of words saved in a heart and left unspoken until it was too late.

And his friends watch, unable to help, as Stan grasps for something he will never find.

_What hurts the most_

_Was being so close_

_And having so much to say_

_And watching you walk away_

_And never knowing_

_What could've been_

_And not seeing that loving you_

_Was what I was trying to do._

Someday, somehow, things will get better- Stan will get better. Someday, somehow, he will be able to smile again. But he will never forgive himself for the mistake he made, for the chance he missed. He will never stop wondering what could have been, if only...

If only he had listened to his heart.

_And not seeing that loving you_

_Was what I was trying to do..._


End file.
